Dawn had just broken on the eastern horizon as Arata accelerated his motorcycle, leaving the city center behind. The cold air lashed against his jacket, offering a crisp freshness he rarely found inside his stuffy workshop. Behind him, a mountain rucksack and camping gear were strapped down tight. His mind was already drifting far toward the riverside outside the city, imagining the tranquility he so desperately needed.

  He had almost reached the city limits, where the concrete buildings began to give way to stretches of green rice fields, when a sharp ringing from his jacket pocket broke the roar of the engine.

  Arata slowed down and pulled over to the quiet shoulder of the road. He pulled off his gloves and reached for his phone. The name Sora flickered on the screen. He answered the call immediately.

  "Hello?"

  "Where are you?" Sora's soft voice came from the other end, but there was a hint of disappointment tucked within it. "Did you forget my message from yesterday afternoon?"

  Arata froze. He tapped his forehead lightly. The brief message from the night before had truly been sidelined by his enthusiasm to depart. He didn't want to admit he had forgotten—that would only make the situation turn icy.

  "Ah, sorry, Sora," Arata replied quickly, his mind racing for a plausible excuse. "There was a slight issue with my bike, so I had to handle it first. I'm heading over to you right now."

  "Really? Please be careful," Sora said quietly before hanging up.

  Without wasting a second, Arata swung his motorcycle around. The tires screeched against the asphalt as he sped back toward the heart of the city. This time, he rode faster than before, piercing through the thinning morning mist toward the workshop where Sora was waiting for him.

  Arata pulled the brake lever right in front of the half-open workshop gate. His breath was slightly ragged, not from exhaustion, but from the guilt weighing on his chest. He immediately cut the engine and approached Sora, who stood waiting for him with her hands hidden behind her back.

  "I'm sorry for keeping you waiting," Arata said sincerely as he flipped up his helmet visor.

  Sora gazed at Arata for a moment, searching his face as if looking for honesty there. "It's okay. Is everything alright?" she asked softly.

  "Yeah, I think so. Hopefully, there won't be any more obstacles for the rest of the trip," Arata replied with a thin smile, trying to mask his nervousness.

  Sora nodded slowly, and a faint smile—a rare sight—finally appeared on her face. "I hope so, too."

  She then pulled a bundle wrapped in sunflower-patterned cloth from behind her back. The package was still warm. "Here, I made this for you. Just some cakes and a packed meal," she said, handing the bundle to Arata. "Eat them on your way. And... don't forget to take some good photos, okay? I want to see them later."

  Arata accepted the bundle with both hands. The fragrant aroma of sweet omelets and freshly baked cakes immediately hit his senses, making his stomach suddenly growl.

  "Thank you, Sora. I promise I'll take plenty of beautiful photos for you," Arata promised.

  Sora only gave a small nod, her face flushing slightly under the emerging morning sun. "Go on then. Don't let it get too late, or the air will turn hot."

  Arata mounted his bike again, stowing Sora's gift in the safest spot inside his bag. This time, as he sped away from the workshop, his heart felt much lighter. A warmth spread through his chest, warmer than the morning sunlight now illuminating the road ahead.

  Arata arrived at the city limits. Suddenly, a piercing cold bit through to the bone, penetrating the thick layers of the jacket he wore. His motorcycle kept moving forward, but the scenery before him began to shift. The once-green rice fields were swallowed by a thick, heavy white fog, as if he had just crossed the boundary between the real world and another dimension.

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  The Valley of White Mist.

  For the local residents, this valley was a forbidden place. Mystical legends of lurking monsters and air so dense it could unravel human sanity had spread for years. The people believed that anyone who ventured too deep into the valley without the "guardian's" permission would never return whole.

  Ironically, this was exactly where the events of over a decade ago took place—the location where Arata's parents vanished in an "accident" that government logic could never explain.

  Suddenly, Arata felt a violent vibration coming from the necklace he was wearing. He pulled the brake lever slowly, bringing his motorcycle to a halt in the middle of the deserted road, hemmed in by walls of fog.

  He stopped his motorcycle and fumbled for the necklace, feeling its tremors. With trembling hands, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out the heirloom. Amidst the whiteness of the mist that drained all color, the gem on the necklace glowed a brilliant blue—a sharp, clear radiance that felt alive.

  Arata stood frozen. The blue glow seemed to be responding to something hidden within the valley. For the first time since he was a child, he felt an overwhelming pull, as if the ground beneath his feet was being forced to keep him from leaving.

  Arata climbed off his bike, leaving the vehicle at the edge of the road as the fog began to swallow it. He was in a trance-like state, like someone walking through a dream but with a definite purpose. His gaze was locked on the blue glow at his chest, while his ears seemed to catch a frequency of sound beyond the reach of ordinary human hearing.

  He began to step forward. Step by step, he left the cold asphalt and entered a vast meadow.

  Something strange was happening. As Arata's footsteps touched the grass, nature itself seemed to react. The tall reeds that should have blocked his path slowly bowed and parted to the side, as if the earth itself were opening a way for him. The ground beneath his feet vibrated softly, welcoming the homecoming of someone long missed.

  Arata continued to step through the sea of reeds, swaying in the cold valley wind. A whisper in his head compelled him to follow nature's guidance, leading him further from the highway and toward the heart of the Valley of White Mist. The fog surrounding him no longer felt suffocating; instead, it felt like a protective shroud shielding him from the outside world.

  His mindless journey came to a halt when the tips of his boots touched a hard surface. Arata looked up. He now stood before a rocky hill that towered mysteriously in a corner of the plain. His eyes caught a structure that stood in stark contrast to the wilderness around it.

  A wooden gateway stood there. Its form was incredibly simple, crafted from ancient wood with a surface weathered and roughened by time, yet it stood firm despite having no other supports around it. On the crossbeam at the top, there was a hand-carving, nearly faded but still legible: The Sacred Stone Shrine.

  Strangely, the moment Arata stood directly in front of the gate, the violent vibration of his necklace abruptly stopped. The atmosphere became profoundly silent, leaving only the whistle of the wind passing through the crevices of the rocks. However, even though the vibration had ceased, the blue light from the gem around his neck glowed even brighter—a steady radiance piercing through the thick fog surrounding him.

  Arata looked up, staring at the face of the rocky hill situated directly behind the gate. There, he saw something that made him catch his breath.

  From a large fissure splitting the surface of the hill, a blue light slowly emerged—identical to the color of his necklace. This light was not a mere reflection; it originated from something deep within the belly of the earth. The glow pulsed softly, as if the rocky hill itself were a living, breathing creature.

  Arata felt a powerful urge to draw closer. He stepped through the ancient wooden gate. With every inch he moved toward the crack in the hill, the blue light radiating from within felt increasingly warm, as if welcoming him home. The glow washed over his face, making Arata momentarily forget the outside world, including his motorcycle left abandoned by the roadside.

  Far behind these events, a pair of glowing red eyes burned. They had been watching Arata's every move in meticulous detail. Arata stopped right in front of the stone crevice. He felt that gaze. A cold sensation, different from the valley mist, crawled up his spine. He turned slowly toward the forest, but the heavy white fog perfectly concealed any form of threat.

  The necklace around his neck, which had been glowing calmly, suddenly gave off a small throb once more. This time, it wasn't a pulse of welcome, but a warning.

  Arata stood frozen before the fissure in the rock. As he was one step away from touching its surface, an extraordinary phenomenon occurred. The stone wall, once hard and solid, suddenly softened; its texture shifted into loose earth before finally flowing downward like calm water.

  Slowly but surely, the natural illusion was stripped away. The rocky hill shed its disguise, revealing its true form that had been hidden for centuries: an ancient temple belonging to his ancestors. The temple's structure appeared both grand and mysterious, with a large hollow at its center—a circular gateway bearing marks as if something had struck it with immense force.

  Arata was mesmerized, but at the same time, the threat behind the fog became more tangible. The pair of red eyes lurking in the darkness of the woods was no longer just watching. Their owner seemed busy. Amidst the lush foliage, thin flashes of electronic light could be seen. The creature was broadcasting a dimensional communication wave, beaming Arata's coordinates through the atmospheric layers toward outer space.

  The signal pulsed with strength.